


Heart attack

by Manatees_for_Mystrade



Series: Silver Tiger [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Jealous Mycroft, M/M, Possessive Mycroft, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manatees_for_Mystrade/pseuds/Manatees_for_Mystrade
Summary: Greg gets drunk with his 'bodyguard' (Mycroft's agent Jonathan) and promises more than he should. Mycroft is crazy jealous, until he comes to conclusion, that Greg wants to propose him. Will this story end with wedding or…No need to read previous work. There is no big spoiler and all works in this series have closed end.





	1. Sir, I can't! I am on duty!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,
> 
> I want to thank BrynTWedge for being awesome! Who is he? He is my great Beta and an amazing writer! If you have time, go and check his stories (but I have to warn you – it's a real roller coaster of emotions).
> 
> Oh, and if you didn't read previous parts of this series:  
> In the first part, I introduced a new character – agent Jonathan. He is working at Scotland Yard as Greg's colleague, but actually, he is Mycroft's agent. Mycroft's have a few other agents working there. Originally, for checking on his brother but then for looking after Greg (because Mycroft is afraid, that somebody will target his lover).

**Today for one? G**

**Sorry I can't. Sherlock tests how long will he last before he loses consciousness. I have to stay to watch over him JW**

**Hard life of Sherlock's nanny G**

**True JW**

 

Greg sighed. Jonathan put files beside him.

"Something wrong, sir?" Jonathan asked.

Three weeks had passed since the whole 'Mycroft Holmes is a poor victim of domestic violence' fiasco. Donovan and Anderson still occasionally annoyed Greg with questions about what really happened, but Greg never gave them an answer (he always changed the subject). Apart from Jonathan, Greg persuaded Mycroft to take back all his agents in New Scotland Yard. Because of it, 18 people unexpectedly requested a transfer or quit. They were replaced so quickly that Greg had no doubt that Mycroft just hired others. But after 20 years of marriage with a woman who cheated on him all the time, Greg had learned to pick his battles.

"Nothing to talk about… John doesn't have time to go to the pub today. I've grown rather used to our regular Tuesday evenings and today I really need a drink. Hmm, maybe… would **you** go with me?"

"Sir, I don't think, it would be appropriate."

"Do you have plans for this evening?"

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, but then he replied truthfully.

"I don't, yet."

Greg studied his gaze carefully.

"Tell me ... If I went with John, would you follow us?" The agent unhappily sighed. This was precisely the reason why agents preferred to work incognito.

"It's my job, sir."

"See. If you think about it, I'm doing you a favour. You would be closer to your target and enjoy the evening." Greg said convincingly, although neither of them were too sure about it. From his experience, Jonathan knew these 'Tuesday evenings with John' had mostly a depressing atmosphere, in which both men complained about Sherlock and didn't talk much.

"Okay." Jonathan nodded. Officially he had no other choice. His main order was protect Lestrade as well as an instruction to comply with his **every** wish, provided it wouldn't collide with the first order. Greg didn't know it, so he grinned.

"Great. Do you need an address?" Asked Greg, before he realised how silly his question was.

"That won't be necessary, thank you." The agent smiled dangerously and Greg wondered if the invitation was a good idea.

 

-II-

When Greg arrived in the pub, Jonathan was already sitting at the bar.

"Sorry. Have you been waiting long?" Greg asked politely. The agent shook his head. Greg nodded and with simple hand gesture ordered two rounds. Jonathan's eyes widened.

"Sir, I can't! I am on duty!"

"Pss. No one will know about it. Or do you see anybody here?"

"Frankly in my profession one never knows, sir."

"In that case, I order you as your direct police superior: drink one and finally relax! And stop addressing me as 'sir'! I'm telling you this for the thousandth time - I'm Greg for you. We are here as friends and nothing more." Greg added and gulped his beer.

"Hmm, when I think about it, how should I call you? John? Johnny? Or maybe Hans? What do you prefer?"

"Jonathan, sir. I've grown accustomed to it. "

"Ha! You are just like Mycroft. He also hates when someone shortens his name."

Jonathan went pale as Greg mentioned Mycroft. Obviously, he realised his position again. _It will be a quite boring evening_. Greg thought, feeling disappointed. Jonathan always looked like a good kid and he wanted to learn more about him. But now Greg apparently crossed his comfort zone. They finished up their drinks in an awkward silence.

"Eh, Jonathan, you seem to be suffering instead of relaxing. What if we go to yours? Of course, unless you live in some secret spy base."

"I guess, I will regret it, but why not." They paid for the drinks and went out together. After one or two blocks, Greg started to recognise the path.

"Hmm, that's funny. I always come back home exactly this way ... Jonathan?" A dark shadow moved on the agent's face as they passed the street lamp. He didn't answer. After 8 minutes they reached the apartment complex where Greg lived.

"Sir, you should be more aware of your neighbours."

Greg was in shock.

"That's not possible. When I had suspicions that you are a spy, I checked you out. This isn't your address!"

"Of course it isn't. I am a professional… And this is not my only apartment."

Greg almost hit him.

"Oh really? And when did you want to tell me this?"

"I didn't. Mr Holmes has highlighted in orders how much you value the feeling of privacy." _Bastard_.

"You son of-! You know what, fuck it… Which floor do you live on?"

"Fifth. Number 22."

"Do you have a beer?"

"A box or two."

"Yeah, for the beginning it could be enough..."


	2. Secret operation, ma'am

Jonathan's flat was as small as Greg's. Unlike him, however, Jonathan kept it in sterile purity.

"Disappointed?" The agent asked.

"No... I just expected something else. Your spy salary is quite bad." Jonathan grinned mysteriously, but pretended that he didn't hear Greg's remark. Instead, he opened his mini bar.

"Whiskey?" He offered, enjoying Greg's surprised expression.

"Scotch." The agent nodded and poured respectable amount into two glasses. Greg wasn't shy, so he sprawled himself out on a sofa.

"Cheers, mate."

"Cheers." Replied the agent as their glasses clinked.

 

-II-

 

Greg had no doubt that Jonathan could endure torture, but his tolerance for alcohol was tragically low. When he looked at Jonathan's bar, he noticed, that he had a large number of expensive and quality liquors. Apparently, the young agent kept them in case of serving them to important visitors. Jonathan himself never drank - as he repeatedly admitted after drinking the half of the second glass. By the third glass, he had loosened his tie and was in much more of a talking mood.

"You know what, inspector?" He said and forgot what he wanted to say. Greg refilled his glass.

"You know I still don't understand why are you keeping a distance from our big boss."

"I'm not!" Greg replied.

"Oh, yes you are! You reject things that he does for you. Cars, gifts, attention. And we are here talking about **that** Mycroft Holmes! I have no idea how can you live in your rabbit hole instead of living in luxury with him! You know, then I wouldn't have to live here too!"

"I just don't use his money like some gold digger! What's wrong with that?!"

"Bullshit! You're just afraid! That's it! You're afraid - I'd bet everything it's because you are frightened that you would lose it. Like you had with your cheating wife!"

Greg was red with anger.

"Shut up and drink."

"Roger, sir!" Jonathan responded quickly. They both gulped another glass.

"Better ... Hmm, Hans, where are you come from?"

"'m from Highgate. Ahh... Hans. It was a long time when I heard somebody say it if I don't count my family. My dad is German. He named me after his grandfather. Hans Johan Schwan. Since I was a child I've loved James Bond movies. When I entered -GULP- the secret services, it was like my a dream came true. It took a long time - but in the end they recognised my abilities and I met the big boss. M. Holmes. Ice Man. A man who doesn't tolerate failure. I remember standing there in front of his desk completely frightened. 'Only thing I was thinking about was that I can't shit my pants, but he sat there, x-raying me with his gaze and I nearly s-... What the hell man? Are you pouring me more? If I didn't know you better, I would think that you're trying to get me drunk. "

"Whhaat - me?" Greg half-pretended in drunkenness. He didn't drink any less than Jonathan. _Ohh, that's why he talked. He doesn't expect me to remember it tomorrow. Na_ _ï_ _ve boy_.

"Soorry bro. Hmm… Where did I end? Oh, yeah, I stood there. I didn't even breathe and he said: "Hans Johan Schwan. Too German. Your new name is Jonathan Seven. So Jonathan, your job will be to protect this man." It was like a slap. He ordered me to look after some ordinary bobby! Then the situation changed. Your security code had risen from 2 to level 9… It took me an entire week before I realised it's because your relationship had 'exceeded'. Haha- Ghg!" The agent started choking, Greg gave him back blows, until Jonathan was talking again.

"Thanks… Then there was the Incident, which we can't talk about. I was sure it was my end when I told you they were after you. I remember being handcuffed on the back seat of Panda. Suddenly Nicolson, who was kicking me, got a call. It was the personal assistant of the Ice Man! In his name she promoted me and gave me a premium. I will never forget Nicolson's face!"

"Hmm Ice Man. I'm glad Mycroft hasn't lost respect after my exaggerated show."

"No, he didn't. I think he became even crueler. He gave us a really hard time… but you've gained quite a reputation. We call you the Silver Tiger!"

"Tiger? I know that Mycroft secretly calls me a silver fox, but a tiger?"

"You took down a murderer, hid yourself from all elite units of Great Britain and tamed the Ice Man. You can't be just a fox, you have to be a tiger!" The agent laughed and Greg joined him. He thought it was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. At the same time it was a big ego boost.

"Then we should celebrate it with another drink!" Greg said grinning and opened another bottle. If the agent was soberer, he would surely have groaned at how expensive the bottle had Greg chosen was. Now, however, he thought it was the best idea in the world. He hadn't been drunk since ... Never. Even during his student years, he wasn't a party type. But now he was prepared to fix that. Now he will get sooo drunk. Now... he'll probably throw up.

Greg's police instincts reacted immediately. Well almost. Alcohol clouded his senses, so he managed to get Jonathan into a bathroom before he vomited his own sofa, but sadly Greg didn't move quickly enough to avoid him _staining_ his shirt. For next 10 minutes, Greg held Jonathan's head above the toilet bowl. Then Jonathan's phone rang. Greg pulled it from his back pocket and looked at the screen. After a few seconds of intensive focusing he was able to read the caller's name.

"Mom, buddy."

The agent released another series of strangling sounds.

"Should I hang up? Is 'Mommy' a secret code for your superiors?"

"Eggr .. No, it's much worse. It's really my mom." Jonathan shuddered. If he didn't pick it up, it would only be worse. He took a slow breath.

"That's good. I'm a professional secret agent... Mom won't notice anything."

Despite his considerable doubts, Greg nodded and pushed the receive button (plus the speaker). They didn't say a word, yet an unpleasant squealing voice of an elderly lady started yelling at them.

"HANS! WHY DON'T YOU PICK UP YOUR PHONE!"

"I am sorry, Mo-Blllght." Jonathan dropped another wave into the bowl.

"Hans! What is it? Was that you?! Are you okay? Where are you?! What's going on?!"

Greg looked at the poor agent and decided to take the charge.

"Secret operation, ma'am."

"Herr Gott, woman, how many times have I told you to not to call him while's he's at work, who knows where he is! Do you want him to get him killed?!" Shouted a male voice with a strong German accent.

"Of course I don't, my darling, but I can't let him waste his life! He is 28 and still he has no woman!"

The agent wished to die on the spot. He would rather go into Mexican drug cartels wearing only underpants and police cap than continue with this conversation.

"You are right like ever, my Liebling. Hans, at your age I had already five children and two divorces! Why don't you listen to your mother and go out with Schuyler Peggy?"

Jonathan groaned.

"I will say it for the last time... I'm not going to date the crazy Moby-dick!"

"You know, dear, it's not that you have many choices. Your work schedule is completely killing your social life... Or do you want to become a priest like your uncle Ignaz?"

Greg felt sorry for Jonathan, who was looking so desperate. _Last time I found_ _a_ _hidden showman in me and it worked. Why don't you try it again, Silver Tiger?_ Asked a little quiet voice in Greg's mind, which was, under the usual circumstances, always shut up by his self-preservation instinct.

"Eh, I'm afraid I can't let that happen."

"What?! Who are you? Is my boy alright? "

"Yeah, he kind of overdoes it, but he keeps saying that he has never felt better in his life. So yes, he is okay. And you ask who I am? In our business they call me the White Tiger. But Hans calls me just _his_ Tiger. Nice to meet you, I was waiting for when he finally introduce us." The agent widened his eyes. He instantly sobered ... Okay, no, he didn't. He went and leaned over the toilet bowl again.

"What are you implying?" Jonathan's mother asked cautiously.

"My Schnuckiputzi, it seems that our youngest is gay." Answered her husband slowly.

"No! That's not possible! It has to be just a phase! I told you we shouldn't let him go in the big city."

"Meine Süße, we are living in London too."

"Yes, but in the nicer part."

"Das ist egal! You already have 12 grandchildren, I'm glad I won't have to remember another name!"

"Not my fault! Before I met you, I wasn't even baptised! Their names could be much shorter!"

"Oh, meine Zaubermaus, put away the garlic press. Everything is going to be okay. Focus on more important things... Hey, so **you** claim, that you are a boyfriend of our young Hans?"

"Indeed, sir! Hans is my love, I won't let him go anywhere with Peggy or anybody else!"

"Hmm .."

"Can I call you Dad?" Greg said, amused.

"I don't think so, lad." Jonathan's father snapped and hung up.

Greg burst into laughter. Jonathan, who now truly sobered, didn't share his amusement.

"This is the last time I mix work with fun."

"Come on, nothing serious happened. Shouldn't you be glad that I got you rid of Peggy?"

"I am. My mom has tried to match us together since I was five. But who knows whom will she try to match me with now! Hopefully not with our old awful neighbour." The agent looked at Greg. His anger abandoned him.

"I'm sorry for that shirt. Wait, I'll bring you new."

"That's not necessary. I live two floors below. I can handle it."

"Nonsense. I'm responsible for you!" Said Jonathan and disappeared into a bedroom. Greg followed him. The agent was almost three inches taller than he, so Greg doubted he would have his size. Still, Jonathan looked confident. He took a clean white shirt from a drawer and handed it to Greg.

"Don't worry, actually this one may be even small for you- it was a Christmas present from my mother. Somehow she only remembered my teenage size." With a nod Greg took off his shirt. Jonathan immediately turned away. Greg considered whether he should laugh, but he concluded that the agent had suffered enough. He buttoned it up. Jonathan's fear was unnecessary… the shirt suited him even better than his original one. Meanwhile, Jonathan tried to cover the smell of vomit with cologne.

"You won't help it, pal. I'm talking from experience, I'd rather take a bath." Said Greg. The agent hesitantly nodded. He turned to go when Greg realised, he couldn't go yet.

"Honestly, this is a bit embarrassing, but yesterday my shower broke – would you mind if I showered myself here?" Asked Greg. Tomorrow an unpleasant headache was waiting for him. He was quite sure that he wouldn't want to spend his morning in searching for a place where could he shower.

"No problem. The second door from the left. Just across the kitchen. Take a towel. " Said the agent automatically.

Greg found a towel in the bathroom, which looked absolutely unused. He checked it twice for the price tag, but without success, so he stripped and went in the shower. The hot water stream washed away all stress from the day. He reached for the closest bottle, which was Jonathan's shower gel. _What a nice smell. I bet these shampoos cost more than my month salary. Ok, maybe not. Maybe I am just being silly._

Greg spaced out, enjoying every second of it. He even washed his hair with some deluxe shampoo from Madagascar. When he was finally satisfied, he dried himself and dressed up. Then he announced, into an empty hallway, that he was leaving. With the borrowed shirt Greg returned to his own apartment, where he immediately fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am learning German and I thought it would be a fun put in this story some German words.  
> If you want to know, what for example Schnuckiputzi means, go on this website:
> 
> https://www.thoughtco.com/german-words-of-love-and-romance-4070961


	3. Problems in paradise?

In the morning, he turned off an alarm clock without noticing. He woke up 20 minutes later when his phone rang.

" Shit!" Greg cursed. Now he didn't have time for anything. Thankful for falling asleep in his suit (meaning shirt with trouser s ), he hastily put on his jacket and ran out.

Jonathan had  a much worse morning. For the first time in his life, he tasted the hangover. With great effort he woke up and pulled out his phone. It was time to get out, however he just couldn't. He had to explain it at work. But how? First, he called to the New Scotland Yard and lied them about having a stomach cramp. When the easier part was done he found the courage to use the same excuse on his true supervisor. After 2 hours (plus several painkillers) Jonathan was prepared to go to work. He arrived with a pale expression on his face. Greg brought him coffee.

"Hard morning, huh?" Greg grinned at the agent.

"You have no idea how much."

"I expected you had to pass through some special alcohol resistance training."

"Obviously I was absent." Said Jonathan, dripping with sarcasm.

"What's your problem? We are not the youngest anymore! I understand you 're having a bad day, but you don't have to be angry with me! Back to work, sergeant." Greg command, turning to leave. Jonathan caught his hand.

"No! I'm sorry, sir. I didn't want to... Can we please talk in private?"

"Wohoho! What do I hear? Jonathan, problems in paradise? Come on, I am also interested!" Said Donovan as she playfully wrapped one hand over Jonathan's neck. The agent jerked. Luckily, he suppressed the reflex to throw her to the ground.

"Let him be." Greg  said, stopping her.  Donovan pursed her lips.

"You are no fun, boss. Jonathan never talks about himself. At this rate he will become a grumpy old man like you!"

"The inspector is no old man!" Jonathan shouted to big surprise of everybody in earshot. Several heads turned. The agent blushed. Greg loudly sighed.

"Sally, that's enough. Jonathan, to my office. You have five minutes." He said authoritatively and walked back to his office. Jonathan followed him quickly. Maybe  **too** fast.

"What was that?" Inspector Trachta asked Sally.

"If you ask me, it looks like a romance in the workplace." She replied mischievously.

"Nonsense." His certainty stopped Sally from another harsh reply. Trachta glanced at the closed door of Greg's office.  _Even such_ _a_ _young boy_ _couldn't_ _have_ _such a_ _low self-preservation instinct_ _as_ _to have something with a partner of Mycroft Holmes. That would be pure suicide! Although every slander is still potential information..._ He thought as he found his phone in his pocket. Trachta pulled it out and with use of a few coded words, he sent a message  about Greg Lestrade to his superior - Anthea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for short chapter. I don't have much time lately.   
> Next time it will be better (=longer) :)


	4. How much of a secret?

Greg sat down behind his desk. The agent carefully closed the door behind him.

"What do you want to talk about? If it's about yesterday, you don't have to feel bad. No one will know. It ’s perfectly normal. Everyone needs to relax from time to time."

"No, sir. It's... I'm really sorry. No - it would be too unprofessional - excuse me. Please, forget that I said anything, I- " Babbled Jonathan, suddenly very nervous.

"Hans. Have you forgotten? I'm your friend. You can trust me. If I can, I will gladly help you."

"It's about my mother, sir."

"What?!"

"Do you remember what you spoke about with my parents yesterday?" Asked Jonathan slowly. Greg did.

"She called me today, because she doesn't really believe that I am in a serious relationship. She wants me to stop playing and find a decent girl. Sir, I know, I'm asking for unthinkable, but could you – just for one night – pretend to be my partner?"

"Ehh. Hans, do you want  some  honest advice?"

"Yes, of course, sir!"

"You aren't five years old anymore ; you can solve your problems with  your  mother yourself."

"Sir! You just said that you will help me! Please, I need your help! And it would be only one dinner."

"Only one? And what will happen to your 'serious relationship' later?"

"We broke up, you died in service, you were transferred to another country - it  doesn’t  matter. My m u m promised me that if she saw me with somebody 'worthy' she  would  leave me alone for a year. No visits! I couldn't wish for more! Please sir!"

"Why me? Can't you find someone else? Maybe  one  of your colleagues?" 

The agent raised his eyebrows in shock.

"Sir! My m u m clearly heard your voice. She can't think that I'm promiscuous!" 

Greg thought for a long time.  _Why not? I have nothing to lose, right?_

"I get it. So, when is the big day?"  Greg asked ,  and  Jonathan  glowed . 

"On Friday at 6 o'clock . W e can choose a place later, but the date is fixed. Parents plan to celebrate my birthday."

"Okay. Jonathan?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Five minutes  is up . Back to work."

"Yes, sir!" Jonathan answered and left Greg's office.

_Hmmm... so you want a serious relationship? I'll make you regret your wish. Greg Lestrade doesn't do anything half-assed._ Greg smiled. He  then  stretched his hands and unlocked his phone.

 

** Still remember the favour  that  you owe me ? G Lestrade **

** OK Boss  AL **

** 5 min to 2 Kennington Station  AL **

** At 3. in front of Westminster Station GL **

** Yep  AL **

 

_I am hungry_ . Greg thought as his belly rumbled. Suddenly his phone vibrated.  _Ah, it's My_ .

"Good afternoon, Gregory. I was wondering if you would like to have  some  lobster."  _How does he do that?!_

"Great idea. I'm just having a lunch break."

"Excellent. The car is ready." Mycroft said calmly. Greg smiled, already on his way out. The limousine  was  parked around the corner (like always – Greg didn't want to make a show in front of  Scotland Yard ). The chauffeur was opening a door for Greg when he noticed his passing colleague, Inspector Sokol, who didn't even blink as Greg entered the expensive limousine.  _Another_ _one of Mycroft’s minions_ . Greg thought bitterly. The vehicle was empty, which didn't surprise Greg. It wasn't the first time Mycroft  had  sent him a car  to meet at the restaurant . This time , Mycroft chose one of his  utmost favourites : Parapluie. Greg still remembered how unbelievably posh the restaurant  was  that Mycroft took him for  their  first date. For his utter absence of a dresscode, they almost expelled him ; but once they found out that he was there with Mycroft ,  they covered him with flattery. He was sick of them. Greg went straight through the restaurant to the private room. As he approached the door to room 3, the waiter opened it with a polite smile.  _Although for a waiter_ _,_ _he is too well armed_ .  Greg thought, unable to ignore the weaponry . Mycroft  was inside, seated  at a small cosy table for two. Before him  lay  two untouched plates with starters and a glass of heavy red wine. The second glass  was held by Mycroft .

 

"I'm glad the traffic didn't delay you, Gregory."

"No, on the contrary, we had green on every stop. Isn't  that  your doing?" Greg  joked .

"Gregory, do I have to remind  you that  my power  is not  omnipotent? I'm just an insignificant official in the service of Her Majesty." Mycroft said with a smirk.

"Well if I remember correctly,  an official in the  ** Traffic  ** department."

"Yes, but only officially." Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg to welcome him.

"Mm, nice to  see  you too." Greg replied. But Mycroft di d n’t  hear  him. When he leaned his head in  for the  kiss, he  noticed  a strange smell.  _A foreign shampoo. Men's_ _fragrance_ _. And that shirt. I've never seen it. Is it new? No, it's too crumpled_ _;_ _he obviously slept in it. The material is in a different price range than Gregore usually buys his clothes. Gift? No,_ _he_ _probably didn't even realize that he is still wearing it. So, Gregory, I'm curious_ _as to_ _how will you explain_ _to_ _me why you smell of_ _another_ _man and why you are wearing his shirt._

 

Mycroft clenched his glass until it almost cracked. Greg noticed his tension. He looked at him with his deep hazel eyes full of caring love , and all Mycroft's arguments died on his tongue. The only thing he managed to say was one bitter remark.

"You smell good." 

Greg,  however , interpreted it as a compliment. His face brightened up like Christmas tree. Mycroft swallowed, sat down , and stabbed his appetizer with a knife.

"It's nice that you always order ahead. Otherwise, I would hardly have time to eat. But I'm  in a little  bit of a  hurry today, would you mind if I skipped the starter?" Greg  asked  innocently. Mycroft froze.

"May I ask why? If I'm not mistaken, 42 minutes remain of your hour long lunch  break ." 

Greg squirmed.

"I know, I  just  have something else to do. A tiny secret project." Greg's eyes gleamed mischievously.

"May I know what is the nature of your project?" Mycroft  gently demanded.

"No. It's a  ** secret  ** project." 

Mycroft  quietened  for 2 minutes, during which the waiter took their starters and brought the lobster.

"How much  of a  secret?"

" ** Secret enough ** . Unlike you, I don't pry into your business and  so  I would appreciate  for you  to  do the same!" 

Greg hit the bull's eye. Mycroft looked away, feeling guilty.  _I am sorry My, but you had it coming._ Their lunch continued in silence , w hich actually wasn't unusual for their lunches . Although, usually  Mycroft enjoyed it. Now his mind was  preoccupied  with  scenes  of catastrophic scenarios. Suddenly Greg stood. Mycroft blinked  twice  as he noticed Greg's empty plate (while he barely touched his food).

"So …  I'm going." Greg  said  with an apologetic smile.  _Wait!_ Mycroft realized.

"George will drive you-" Greg stopped him.

"It won't be necessary. I want to go on foot."

" Have I done something  wrong?" Mycroft asked and sadly examined his fork.

"No, of course you  haven’t . How could you even think it? I just want to walk. You always drive me  everywhere; I'm getting fat... And you know, people at my age have to move around regularly." Greg straightened his back.

"Gregory, is Friday evening still on?" Mycroft asked in his cold neutral tone. Greg paused.  _Damn, how could I totally forget about the grand Gala? Myc finally decided to introduce me to high society. It was the reason why I wanted to go for a beer with John_ _in the first place_ _!_

"Definitely. I'm looking forward it." Greg  lied . He was incredibly  stressed .

"Just remind me, My, when is the posh event?"

"House of Lords at 8 PM." Mycroft  answered shortly. Greg started to plan.  _Jonathan's dinner is at 6, I could arrange a business near the home. I'll be already dressed for the dinner, and after an hour I will excuse myself. A taxi will get me home before Mycroft's car arrives. I got it. No problem. I would make a great double agent._ Greg hurriedly kissed Mycroft farewell.

"Don't worry, I'll be there on time. I have to go now. Bye."


	5. You interrupted my great experiments for hair products?!

Greg stepped out on the street. After a few metres, he suddenly changed his direction. He knew that 'if' Mycroft's people were following him, he wouldn’t shake them off so easily. But Greg was getting into his role of double agent.  _And a good agent should move unexpectedly_ . Greg blended into a crowd of Dutch tourists. While with the group, he successfully passed the closest subway entrance and entered a different one. He then got on the first train he saw. 

Two stops later, he got off. It was Kennington Station. He looked at his watch. 1:48. He waited for 7 minutes. The train arrived with a minute delay, but Greg had no doubt that it was the right one. Line: Charing Cross, next station: Waterloo. He went into the third car. Ignoring the empty seats, Greg leaned against the wall beside an elderly man reading a newspaper. Although Greg could barely see the man's face through the newspaper, he had recognized him instantly. 

Aron Lupin. A dealer whom Greg had met during a particularly ugly murder of a little girl. It was his second case. Lupin was a clear suspect because of his origin, but Greg didn't let himself be fooled. His colleagues laughed at him for continuing the investigation. They had nearly fired him… In the end, it took him 4 weeks to find the real killer. Since then, Aron felt grateful and desperately wanted to repay Greg for his freedom (despite Greg telling him many times that he was only doing his job). However, Greg refused all his 'kindness attempts' with a strong recommendation to keep his distance. The last thing that Greg needed was to accept anything that could be considered a bribe.

 

"Wow, you are the weirdest cop I've ever met," said the man admiringly without looking up from the newspapers.

"What a clever trick – use my own cipher to determine the meeting location. At first, I was a little bit unsure if you were serious… but with my criminal record, you couldn't expect to meet me in front of the closest tube to New Scotland Yard. No. Then I realized it! You wanted to be super incognito; so you used the same code with which you proved my innocence! Of course I couldn't have been the killer when I was selling drugs in a different part of London. 'At 3. in front of Westminster Station'. The dot after the three referred to the third carriage. Big W denoted driving direction and train type because its next station is Waterloo. You didn't change my time, so all that you had to do was to wait for the first train which arrived closest to our time and met the conditions. I think you deserve a round of applause."

"Very funny. I have no idea why you are wasting our time by stating the obvious. We're not in the movies."

"But it would be a great one... I see you are not in the mode for jokes. So straight to business. What are you looking for?"

"Wedding rings." Greg answered. Lupin dropped the newspaper in shock.

"You had a divorce?!"

"Yeah, four years ago. She cheated on me."

"Ouch, I hope you punched the guy."

"Which one?" Greg groaned.

"Ahh. Sorry to hear that… what kind of ring would your lady like? Sunstone, gold, turquoise, agate?"

"Eh. There is no lady. It's a guy, so nothing too exaggerated. I would like something simple. Especially nothing expensive. I want something very cheap, but it has to look posh... Is there a problem? Does it matter that it is for a man?"

"No, I just... I didn't know you played for the other team. But I'm a modern person, I sell to all people, whether they are- "

"Great. How much do you want?"

"Oh, inspector, you don't owe me any money!" 

Greg frowned.

"We've already talked about this. I'm a policeman I can't accept anything- " 

Edgar grinned wide.

"Yes, I know, however this isn't about giving a 'present' to a policeman. We're talking about helping love! Don't worry, you will get the most beautiful rings ever."

"As I said, I am looking for something  ** very cheap ** . Ahh... It's time to go. Please, use a courier, who will hand it to me personally… Lupin, please. Nothing. Expensive."

"Sure, boss. Just tell me, what is he like?"

"There is nothing that can I tell you. He works in secret services. And maybe, he's watching me right now. "

"Oh, you don't seem like a guy who’d have a bit of Stockholm syndrome."

"I have a tendency to surprise people recently." Greg grinned at him. He slid off the wall and stepped out of the car on the last second before the door closed behind him. Lupin didn't miss the miserable glance of a woman, who was obviously spying Greg. But before she could react, he was gone. Lupin laughed.  _I'm sorry Greg Lestrade, but somebody as interesting as you doesn't deserve anything ordinary. No, I'll give special attention to your order._

 

-II-

 

The waiter returned to Mycroft's table. He took his full plate, watching him with a question on his lips.

"The food wasn't to your liking, sir?"

"No, I just lost my appetite. That will be all for today, Markus."

"As you wish, sir." The waiter nodded. Mycroft turned to leave. Before he reached the prepared car, he had already dialled the secret number for headquarters.

"Today's code XDB-56A, authority M1CR0. Prepare me records from 5ILVER-F0X for the last month. I will be there in 25 minutes. "

"Yes, sir."

 

-II-

 

Mycroft thoroughly read all the records. They gathered them for purely practical reasons, so they could identify attackers or new dangers. After every a few months, they were deleted. The records didn't contain anything too personal. Currently Greg had four bugs in his home. Two were at the main door for checking who came in. Another at the door to the balcony (for the same purpose), where there was an ‘escape’ staircase. Nevertheless, Mycroft hadn’t opened any of these materials since their relationship properly started. He thought it was an inappropriate intrusion into his private life. Unfortunately, now he had a strong suspicions which had to be resolved.

Greg Lestrade (if he didn’t count some unpredictable events at work) had seldom changed his routine. His (only) social gatherings were occasional evenings in a pub with John.  _John Watson. Potential candidate number 1. Gregory knows him. He cares about him... But Sherlock would never allow it. And that fragrance. I don't think it was a doctor's style..._ Mycroft clunched his phone. He had to be absolutely sure.

Sherlock didn't pick up.  _How typical_ . Even though he hated texting, he didn't see any other way.

** Brother, I'm glad you're on the phone. What shampoo does Dr Watson use? MH **

** WHAT! You interrupted my great experiments for hair products?! No matter what you try, your balding head can’t be saved. Although I understand why you're envious of John's hair. SH **

Mycroft sighed and waited two minutes and thirty seconds.

** L'Oreal Elvive Men Anti-Dandruff 2-In-1 250Ml You are welcome :P JW **

_Thank God_ . He thought and finally crossed John Watson out of his mental list.  _In that case, it must be someone from work, as I originally thought_ . 

Mycroft called all agents in the field (around Greg). Three calls later, he didn't have anything – until he spoke with an agent using the name ‘Trachta’.

_Grrr... Agent Hans James Schwan_ . _The most likely option. From the moment he confided his secret identity to Gregory, their bond had grown. They have been spending a lot of time together lately. And he lives in the same apartment complex as Gregory. However, there are no wiretaps in_ ** _his_ ** _apartment..._

"Agent Thormund Lokin? Yes. Bring me shampoo samples from Agent James Hans Schwan's flat and send it to my office... No, your intervention won't be necessary. I'll take care of the analysis myself."

An hour later, a small plastic bag filled with golden liquid appeared on Mycroft's desk. Mycroft opened it and sniffed at it.  _That_ ** _bastard_ . **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it looks like a product placement, but it is not. I just googled some men's shampoo and copied the name :P


	6. Your high society doesn't offend me

Anthea burst into Mycroft's office.

"What does this mean, sir? Have you completely lost your mind?! You can’t deport the only agent the Inspector can bear to Iran!"

"Hmm, I agree. Change it to North Korea." Mycroft said with an icy sharpness. Anthea was horrified.

"Sir! What's going on here?"

"It's not for you to know. I've already made my decision. If you refuse to execute my orders, you will be replaced within 24 hours." 

Anthea swallowed. All her senses screamed to flee, but after years of service, she was trained to overcome her primal instinct and resist a menace named Mycroft Holmes. She noticed his evasive look. And then she realized what had happened.

"You're jealous." Anthea said incredulously. It was not a question. Mycroft almost jumped out of his chair.

"I am definitely not!"

"Oh, yes, you are. But sir, you have no reason to be. What does Agent Schwan have that you don’t? Yes, he is a young, 1.87 m tall agent with rich black hair, cat's green eyes and very firm ass- "

"That's enough. I think we already have a good idea of what Gregory sees in him. Could you please remind me why we chose him as Gregory's personal guard?"

"When the Inspector began working with Sherlock, you were looking for someone capable of Lestrade’s protection; however not someone the service would miss. In other words, Hans James Schwan was the most incompetent member of a very efficient unit. Moreover, with his young age, he was perfectly convincing as novice policeman, who could gain an Inspector's trust – which he has done. But none of that matters. Greg Lestrade is an extremely faithful man. He certainly isn’t cheating on you."

"My suspicion isn’t baseless. Gregory smelled of  _** his ** _ shampoo. Besides, he was wearing a well fitting expensive shirt, which I didn't buy for him."

"Sir, in your opinion, it is more likely that the Inspector cheats on you than he bought a proper shirt?! And even so… anybody could given him the shirt. Actually, he could have owned it for years, maybe he just didn't wear it! Did you consider these options?"

"How would you explain the shampoo?"

"Simple. They live in the same apartment complex. The most likely scenario is the Inspector ran out of his shampoo, and so Schwan lent him his own."

"I see, you are worthy of your position. Coming up with a plausible lie is, for you, as easy as converting oxygen into carbon dioxide." Mycroft snapped. Anthea sighed deeply.

"Ahhh, sir, why don’t you just ask the Inspector?" 

Mycroft broke eye contact and looked to the ground.

"How? What if you're right, and my accusation is incorrect? Wouldn’t it ruin our relationship?"

"Surprisingly good deduction, sir." Anthea said, and immediately regretted her words when Mycroft gave her a particularly reproachful glare.

"I am sorry, sir. I have forgotten my place... Hmm, what if you use some excuse to talk and then asked the inspector, where did he get the shampoo and the shirt?"

"That doesn’t sound like a  _completely_ hopeless plan... What excuse do you suggest?"

"Mmm ... Friday is the gala, sir. How about measuring him for a tuxedo?"

"Nonsense. I took Gregory's measurements a long time ago, and his suit is already prepared."

"Yes, but does the Inspector know it?"

"Brilliant." Mycroft answered with the new enthusiasm.

 

-II-

 

Greg had quite the usual day. Well,  _usually horrible_ . Right now he was chasing a suspect through a narrow street. Unfortunately, the man was already gone. Out of breath, Greg finally admitted his defeat. Angrily he punched an opposite wall and cursed.

"Do not take God's name in vain, He can hear everything, young man." 

Greg tried to remember when someone had called him 'young man’ last. He turned and was greeted with the smiling wrinkling face of an old woman. In her eyes, he might actually be a young man.

"Oh, are you talking to me?" Greg asked.

"Is there anyone else?" She said as if she was speaking with a little child. Greg felt ashamed.

"No, there isn't. Excuse me, can I help you? "

"You can if you are an Inspector named Greg Lestrade?"

"Yes, I am. Who's asking?" He replied carefully.

"I am asking, you silly boy. Nobody else is here. We have already sorted out that. I've got a package for you." She pulled out of her skirt a small box and gave it to Greg. He checked the contents before he slipped it in his pocket.

"You look surprised, young man. Is there a problem?"

"No, I just did not expect somebody like you would work for a drug cartel."

"What do you mean? So old? It's alright, young man, you don’t have to look so guilty. I understand. But you need to understand me. Pensions are not what they used to be. And I want to go with my grandchildren to Hawaii." The old lady revealed her toothless smile.

"Thank you." Greg ended the conversation as he noticed a colleague, who was approaching him. The old woman just nodded and disappeared into the nearest house. Trachta finally reached Greg.

"Who was that?" Trachta asked.

"I have no idea." Lied Greg.

 

-II-

 

Greg’s shift was nearly over when Mycroft called him.

"Good evening, Gregory. I hate to bother you, but I need to take your measurements for your new suit for Friday's gala evening. "

"What's wrong with  ** my  ** formal suit?"

"...Don’t make me burn that  _thing_ . I can't let you go into the high society in such woolen disgrace. No offence."

"Your high society doesn't offend me."

Mycroft sighed.

"…Gregory. You know very well what I meant. "

"Yeah. So where should I go for you to get my measurements? "

"You don’t have to go anywhere. I'm already on my way to your apartment. "

"Okay. I'll be there in 15 minutes. See you."

"Goodbye, Gregory."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Next chapter will contain smut. But it was written by me, so it’s as sexy as commercial about hemorrhoids. If you don't like it (or you scared to try it, which is fine - I would be too), you can skip it. I will write in notes what happened (I am sure, that you don't want to miss the plot twist).


	7. Personal approach to customers is phenomenal

When Greg opened the front door, Mycroft was already sitting on the sofa in the living room. In his hand he had a half-empty glass of Scottish home-made brandy (which Greg had received from his former colleague, who moved to Aberdeen). Once Mycroft had said that he would rather drink his own urine than something so dubious as this.  _He probably had an especially difficult day_ . Greg thought.  _But don't worry My, I know what will help you_ .

"I'm home." Greg said to gain his attention, and Mycroft turned his head to him. Something was clearly troubling his mind.

"Hello Gregory, how was your day?"

"As usual, nothing special." At his words, Mycroft gritted his teeth in silent fury. He almost responded: ' _And how was your night yesterday?_ ' Luckily, he contained himself. Mycroft Holmes could be an incredibly patient man.

"In that case, we should proceed to take the measurements." 

Mycroft pulled out a tape measure from his pocket. Greg didn't move. Obediently, he spread his arms and Mycroft took a set of measurements. Mycroft didn't write any notes, but Greg didn't expect him to. After a while, Mycroft was finished with Greg's upper body and moved a little lower. He stopped.

"Gregory, this way, my measurements will be inaccurate." 

Greg smirked.

"Then you should do something about it. As my  **tailor** , you can't let my future suit go to waste... Mr Tailor, I won't pay you for anything other than a perfectly fitting suit." Greg purred with innuendo and began to untie Mycroft's tie. Mycroft looked into Greg's deep hazel eyes. He detailly observed him. Mycroft always thought that he could read people perfectly, however he didn't ( _or couldn't?_ ) see any betrayal in his partner.  _Has he complete subdued me? Did he blind me?_

Greg unzipped his trousers and gently stroked his manhood. _Why do I still desire him?_ Mycroft's eyes locked with Gregory's, which were drunk in lust. He couldn't bear to lose him, let him leave with another man. _No_. Mycroft pushed Greg against the sofa. Greg only blinked as Mycroft took charge. _No, I won't share him. He belongs to me._ Mycroft thought selfishly and tore Greg's shirt in half. With new access to his lover's skin, Mycroft bit his nipple. _And if I have to destroy the entire world to prove it, I will do it._ He sucked it. Maybe a little too hard. Greg cried out. But more from shock and ecstasy than from pain. Mycroft's turned his attention to Greg's neck. As he kissed him, he deeply inhaled Greg's smell _– the wrong smell_. The politician frowned. _But don't worry my dear Gregory, I will get you rid of that disgusting smell._ Mycroft unexpectedly bit Greg's earlobe, until Greg yelped. _Cover it with mine… even if I have to fuck you all night,_ Mycroft promised himself. His right hand slipped into Greg's trousers.

"Oh-oh stop for a moment!" Panted Greg.

"Why? Are you tired after all of your  _activities_ ?" Mycroft asked bitterly (although Greg translated his tone as sexual frustration).

"Actually, yes. I was running all day, and tomorrow I have to get up at five. It's not like I don't want to continue – just, can we please move to bed?" 

Mycroft agreed but held Greg a little longer than was normal, before he released him. They both moved to the bedroom. Greg lost his trousers in the door frame, and Mycroft shoved him on the bed. Greg's naked body fell onto the messed up bed (well, it was Greg's bed). His brown eyes were tracking every one of Mycroft's movements as the taller man approached.

"You’re not going to take off your clothes?" Asked Greg, who was suddenly feeling very exposed. 

"I thought you liked my suits." Mycroft replied in a husky voice.

"Oh God, I do." Greg uttered and wrapped his legs around the politician. Two wet kisses later, Mycroft found the lube and pushed one finger into Greg. Greg gasped.

"Wait! Are you sure? You will ruin your suit!" 

Mycroft pushed another finger in him, which successfully silenced him.

"Don't care. Have you forgetten? I am a tailor, I can make another suit." Mycroft purred in his ear and Greg nearly came just from the tone of his voice. When he added the third finger, Greg was moaning like a slut.

"Please, My, please – I need you…" Greg begged, however, Mycroft ignored him, fully enjoying what he was doing to him. He quickly unzipped his trousers, and released his hard member from the confines of his pants. Out of desperation, Greg tried to stroke himself, but Mycroft caught both of his hands and finally shoved his dick in him. Greg couldn't help himself and cried out. Still, Mycroft didn't change his merciless slow pace.

"My, Love, please… faster!" Greg begged as he squirmed to get more attention.  _No, my dear Gregory, I can't. What if this is the last time we are making love? Maybe you won't want to be with me after I deal with your lover._ Mycroft pushed deeper and kissed the top of Greg's right shoulder blade while Greg quietly sobbed.

"My-Mycroft please… No, I swear -ah- if you don't fuck me faster -ahh- I will go and find somebody who will!" Mycroft's eyes widened and he immediately started to fuck him faster. Rougher.  _Is this what you want? Will this make you scream the name of your new lover?_

"My-My-My!"  _My what? My agent? My Jonathan?!_

"Use. My. Full. Name, Gregory." Commanded Mycroft. Each word accompanied by especially hard thrust hitting his prostate.

" _Ah-ah_ ! My-Mycroft!" Greg cried out as he came, but Mycroft didn't slow down. He kept going, seeking his own pleasure.

"Do you love me?" Asked Mycroft. It took him 20 seconds to realize the meaning of his own words.

"Y-yess…" Moaned Greg, eye rolled to the back of his head. Mycroft felt overwhelmed. He knew that he wouldn't last. With one last thrust, he finished inside him. When Mycroft pulled out, Greg fell on his belly. Then he blissfully smiled at him and passionately embraced Mycroft.

"Mmmn, I finally understand what you see in these tailored suits.  ** Personal approach  ** to customers is phenomenal!" Greg joked, grateful that they moved to the bed.

"Gregory, I can assure you, that if any tailor would try to convince you that this is a common practice, I'll make sure he will never see the light until the end of his days." Mycroft said, head buried in Greg's neck. Greg laughed. He had no idea how could Mycroft say such things with such a serious face (well, Greg didn't know that Mycroft wasn't joking).

"But you didn't have to tear my shirt." Pouted Greg, more amused than actually offended.

"I had to. I hated it." Whispered Mycroft.

" _What_ ?! Why? I’ve only had it for a day!"

"It was more than enough."

"I thought it fitted me perfectly!"

"I would buy you better."

"My, what's got into you tonight?... Do you want to talk about something?"

"...Perhaps."

"Is it serious?"

"..." 

Greg sighed. Mycroft looked torn and tired.

"Mycroft? Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’ve had a hard day – you obviously have too. Let’s go to sleep now, tomorrow will be a better day." 

Mycroft reluctantly nodded and gently kissed Greg.

Within five minutes Greg fell asleep. However, Mycroft couldn’t sleep at all. Unspoken words tortured his mind. Before Greg came home, Mycroft checked his bathroom. The shampoo was still half full, so Anthea's theory was eliminated.

After half an hour watching the ceiling above him, he carefully slipped out of the bed (of course, without waking up his partner). It was 1:30 am but the room was illuminated by the full moon. Still, he almost tripped over Greg's trousers on the floor. Suddenly, he noticed a small round box which was poking out of the pocket. Mycroft held his breath as he reached for it and opened it. All his anger, fear, and uncertainty disappeared at once when he touched the golden rings with silver ornamentation.  _Wedding rings! They are so beautiful._ Mycroft felt like the greatest fool in the world.  _I am accusing him of adultery and he wants to marry me instead_ . He gently returned the box (with its contents) to its original place. Then he went to the living room, where he got dressed and left Greg’s apartment.

 

-II-

 

In the safety of own mansion, he had fully realized everything. Mycroft Holmes had never made a celebrating dance. Therefore he also didn’t do it now.  _Thank Lord, I discovered it. I don’t know how would have reacted. I hate surprises._ Mycroft thought, buried in his bed. He wasn’t sure if he ever slept so peacefully as he did then when he dreamed about sharing the future with  _** his ** _ Gregory.


	8. My dear, what would you say if I got married?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anybody who didn’t read the last chapter? No? Well, I will say what happened anyway.  
> Short version: They had sex. Then Greg fell asleep and Mycroft accidentally found wedding rings.

As soon as Anthea saw her boss, she was relieved. He looked much better. She even spoted a small smile on his absent expression; which was enough proof that the inspector wasn't found guilty.

"My dear, what would you say if I got married?" Mycroft said casually – like he was talking about the weather. Anthea dropped all her files on the ground.

"Then I would say, with all due respect: HAVE YOU COMPLETELY LOST YOUR MIND?!" She shouted.

Mycroft was honestly surprised. He thought it was a great idea. But Anthea wasn't finished yet.

"How can you consider it?! Yesterday you were crazy about him cheating on you, and today you want to marry him?! You have been dating for only half a year! For God's sake, you don't even live together!"

"I found wedding rings." Mycroft said. Anthea's eyes sparkled and she covered her open mouth.

"You're getting married! Jesus Christ! I never expected to live to this day!"

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.

"Where has your criticism gone? So Gregory isn't crazy if he wants to marry me, however I am!?"

"Oh shush. I have to admit that I didn't expect the Inspector would do anything so bold! But, no offense sir, you will never find a better man than him. I was just afraid you'd scare him away!" Mycroft wasn't offended. Actually, he had the same opinion.

"Ahh, so when he will ask?"

"I don't know yet, although I have my suspicions…" Mycroft smiled warmly.

"The Gala evening on Friday?"

"Yes, exactly." Agreed Mycroft. They exchanged a long smile. In Anthea's whole working career with Mycroft, they shared only a few truly personal moments. This was one of them.

Then Mycroft broke the eye contact and they both went back to work, as if nothing had happened.

 

-II-

 

Up until today, Mycroft and Greg more or less just passed each other, mostly because of work. Greg was glad he took Friday's afternoon off, otherwise he would be still sitting in his office. He looked at his phone. He had postponed it long enough.

"Hello, Myc?"

"Yes, Gregory?"

"I have a request."

"Anything." Mycroft breathed.

"Okay. So I want to have a free afternoon today – no agents, no tracking. I can tolerate Jonathan but no one else. And before that big Gala thing, I have to do something. Nothing important. Yet, I want privacy. Hmm, come to think of it, I might not have time to spare… would it matter if we met there? Oh, and can you bring me the suit now? Sorry, I will explain everything this evening. It's a pretty funny story…"

"As you wish. The suit is already on its way. "

_That was far too easy. Just to be absolutely certain, I will call Anthea…_

"Yes, Inspector? How can I help you?"

"Hello, I just want to check that Mycroft did as he promised and reduced my 'security measures' to zero."

"Almost. He's talking with agent Jonathan right now to tell him he will be the only one in service."

"That's okay, I've allowed that exception."

"Then yes. He did."

"Wasn't it kind of… too easy? Usually whenever I raise the security topic we always have a row."

"Today Mr Holmes is in a particularly good mood."

"How so?"

"You didn't hear it from me, but he can't wait to see you in the tuxedo… and on your knees." Anthea said in a playful tone.

"Anthea!" Greg went red, surprised by her unexpectedly inappropriate remark.

"Excuse me, sir. I let myself carried away... Enjoy the evening." Anthea smiled into the phone.

"Bye." Greg said, and hung up. _Weird, she's always so professional and reserved. What's happening today?_ _...Who_ _cares. Today, I have enough problems_ _of my own_ _._

 

-II-

 

Agent Jonathan was frightened when he got a call from a secret number. _Work_ . _If_ _it's_ _serious, I will have a big problem. Everything is already arranged_. He clicked accept on his phone screen.

"XRAMB07." Spoke the cold voice of Mycroft Holmes. Jonathan shivered. There weren't many people whom had received a direct call from the Ice Man and remained in a state to tell somebody about it. At least nobody so small a fish like Jonathan.

"Yes, sir. Agent Hans James Schwen at your service."

 _Amateur. Introducing himself with a real name. How could I have thought that_ **_my_ ** _Gregory had something with him_? Mycroft shook his head.

"Gregory Lestrade requested exclusively your presence today, which means his safety is now solely your responsibility."

"Yes, sir." Jonathan answered automatically. Mycroft paused for a moment. _No agent registered Gregory_ _visiting a jewellers_ _or any other shop. Most likely..._

"Hmm, agent, gold and silver was an exceptionally good choice." Jonathan froze.

"Sir? You know about it!? I am so sorry! It was very unprofessional! I- "

 _What's wrong with him?_ _I am praising_ _him!_ Mycroft frowned. _He's probably_ _a_ _simpleton. I should apologize to Gregory._

"You have done nothing wrong. On the contrary, if you had asked, I would have gladly given you permission."

The agent did not know what to say.

"Thank you, sir ... Gold and Silver was the Inspector's choice."

 _Of course, it was_. Mycroft smiled proudly.

"Keep up the great work, Agent Seven." Mycroft ended the call, and Jonathan was grateful for it. He had no idea why the Ice Man was so pleased that Greg had chosen the restaurant 'Gold and Silver' for their fake date, but he found it more than strange.

 


	9. It's showtime

When Greg arrived home, he found in his bedroom a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. He almost laughed as he noticed a silky bow tie on it. Greg carefully changed into it. Nothing in his life fitted him better. Yes, with the bow tie he felt little ridiculous, but also kind of like James Bond. He put on silver cufflinks.  _It's showtime_ .

The bell rang.  _Just in time_ . Greg opened the door. Jonathan froze and paled.

"Y-you look great, sir. I didn't know you would dress so fancy. I'm going to have to change clothes now."

"No, Hans, it's all right. After the dinner, I have the gala evening with Mycroft." 

The agent nodded, but Greg saw in his eyes how much he was ashamed of his ordinary grey suit with a blue tie. They both went out to Jonathan's Audi. The agent clenched the steering wheel. His hands slightly trembled. The anxiety had already begun to build in him.

 

-II-

 

There were no traffic jams, so they arrived in Highgate punctually. An elderly well-dressed couple came out of the small house. Reinhard Franz Schwan chose a simple beige suit with a similar blue tie as his son. His wife Margarita walked arm in arm with him. She wore sky blue dress and a pearl necklace. Greg surprised them both. At first, he wondered if it was because of his clothes, and then perhaps something else; but quickly decided it was the suit. He smiled apologetically.

"I like things classy." Said Greg, which impressed them all.

"After you, ma'am," Greg added as he opened the car door for Jonathan's mother. She humbly blushed. Hans' father patted his son on the back and whispered something to him. The agent went red. Greg grinned charmingly before he stepped back into his passenger seat.

"So how did you meet?" Margarita asked. Her son took a deep breath, but Greg answered quicker.

"Ma'am, I would like to give you this information. Unfortunately, it's top secret." 

The agent's mother giggled. Jonathan looked at Greg in disbelief. He wouldn't be surprised if he replaced him in the secret service. Greg was incredibly convincing.

"I'm just joking. We've met at work. It was rainy morning and I…"

 

-II-

 

On the way, Greg answered many more questions until they reached their final destination. The agent noticed that most of Greg's responses were either vague or evasive, yet his parents seemed to be satisfied.

"We booked our table in the back to have more privacy." Greg said, indicating them to follow him. Then he whispered a fictitious name to a hostess, on which he secretly booked a table while he was at work. To be honest, he wasn't even sure why he was concealing his actions from Mycroft. His partner never really acted like the jealous type. Perhaps Greg was just excited that he could do something incognito. It'd been a long time since he was employed as a secret agent in the field. Actually, since he and Mycroft had started dating – then suddenly all the interesting (dangerous) jobs disappeared, and he had wound up doing mostly paperwork. Well, except for every case with Sherlock.  _At least some adrenaline_ .

The hostess led them to their table. Greg's charming smile returned. Gold and Silver didn't have low prices, but Greg couldn't care less. Besides, they had agreed beforehand that Jonathan was paying for everything. However, neither the agent nor his parents understood half of the menu (which was evident from their expressions). Fortunately, after all classy diners with Mycroft, Greg knew exactly what to say to maintain control.

"If you allow me, I will help you with your choice."

"That would be great." Margarita said thankfully and put down her menu.

"As a starter, I would recommend to you Madam Crêpe au Fromage de Chèvre, but I think Herr Schwan would prefer Moules Marinières ou à la crème. I still have some work later, so I would rather avoid garlic and go for Camembert français. Hans, of course, will have Escargots Bourguignon like always when we are here.

“I think today's speciality, Filet de Boeuf aux Morille, would be an excellent choice for your main meal; while we will have our favourite: Magret de Canard Sauce Cerises. And as a dessert, you all must try the new dish La tulipe au syrup d'érable, fantaisies de nos glaces et sorbet – it's simply delicious. Hmm, yes. Merlot will complement this evening's dinner. However, as a toast, I would choose Brut Veuve Clicquot." Greg recited with a perfect French accent. They all dropped their jaws. Jonathan recovered first.

"Yes, my dear, it sounds marvellous. Vatti, Mum, do you agree?" Both parents nodded speechlessly. Jonathan didn't have even the slightest idea what _Escargots_ were, which he 'always had here', but Greg was so perfectly natural with the menu that he trusted him. It was a big shock for him when the waiter placed a plate full of snails in front of him. He kept his poker face, and despite his inner resistance – ate the appetizer. The Inspector smiled innocently at him.

The evening continued in great spirits. During the toast Greg wished Jonathan a happy birthday and praised his mother's earrings. Jonathan was almost sorry that everything was only fiction. His parents literally loved Greg. Time flew by; suddenly a waiter brought desserts and a bottle of sparkling wine, which they didn't order (although Jonathan wasn't entirely sure about that since Greg had ordered for everybody in French). The waiter winked at Greg, who smiled back at him. As the waiter left, Greg cleared his throat and stood up.

"I have to apologize to you all since I told you one big lie today." Jonathan paled. He began to silently pray.  _Was he going to spoil it to my parents? Surely, he wouldn't break their hearts now!_ Greg waited a few moments to mentally torture the agent. Then he knelt on one knee in front of him and opened a small box.

"It isn't true that I didn't bring you a birthday present..." 

_Oh fuck! We haven't agreed on this!_ The agent thought desperately.


	10. I hate surprises

After a conversation with Greg, Mycroft couldn't properly focus on anything. Even when he was a little boy, he had never been more excited. Not even for Christmas. And little Mycroft loved Christmas. He hadn't believed in Father Christmas since he was three years old, but still it was a day wherein he got extra dessert.

Anthea entered the room with tea for him.

"You promised that you wouldn't monitor him, sir."

"I'm not. I'm simply following his phone's GPS location." 

Anthea refrained from commenting.

"And?" She asked after a minute.

"He drove from his apartment to Highgate, where he just turned around and returned. Which may mean he's testing whether I'm following him or he picked something up there… Now, he is in the French restaurant 'Gold and Silver'. I took him there once in the beginning of our relationship. He immediately condemned it as an overpriced and snobbish place..." 

Anthea recognized an eager sparkle in his eye.

"Sir, do you want to go there? I'll take care of the work."

"...Yes, I do. I hate surprises, I'd like to be ready for anything that Gregory has prepared for me." Mycroft replied and took the cup of tea from her.

"And Anthea, thank you. For everything." He said back to her. Anthea grinned widely.

 

-II-

 

Mycroft spent a lot of time choosing his clothes. If Gregory caught him on the spot, and decided to change the order of his plans, he didn't want to look like an ugly duckling. It took him half an hour to pick out an adequate suit, which he eventually exchanged twice.

His favourite chauffeur drove him to the restaurant, so he didn't have to make any conversation on the road. In the 'Gold and Silver' he tried Greg's name, and also his surname, but the hostess had no reservation on it.  _Smart, Gregory._ Luckily for Mycroft, he was a very prominent former guest, therefore the hostess had no problem with giving him information about her current guests. After a small bribe, Mycroft discovered that the man he was looking for was sitting at the end of the main hall.

_Maybe I could_ _disguise myself as a waiter, but given the quality of my suit, it would be pointless, and I am not going to change again_. He went to the hall alongside the hostess, as if he was an average guest who wanted to be seated – of course, somewhere near their table, so he could hear what they were talking about. But in the end it wasn't necessary...

As he walked into the hall, he caught sight of Gregory in his tuxedo. That sight was worth of every penny. He completely hypnotized him… until he realized what he was doing. With deadly horror, he watched the man he loved on his knee with a small round box in his hand in front of another. Although they were half the hall apart, he could lip read his words. The seven words rang in his head like a death sentence.

"Hans James Schwan, will you marry me?"

Mycroft nearly fainted. He had to lean on the nearest table. The hostess looked at him concerned.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"I have to get some air." Mycroft whispered broken.

"Sure, sir." She answered and slowly guided him out of the room.

Inside the reception, pleasant air flowed in from outside. Mycroft registered the symptoms in his head and sat down in the nearest chair.

"I'm having a heart attack. Call an ambulance."

 

-II-

 

Hans panicked. He expected many things but not this! Greg's little show attracted a bunch of eyes to their table.  _Is that Mycroft Holmes? Oh, God, that's really him! Well, obviously he knew it was going to happen! He knows everything. Probably he only came to assure himself that I wouldn't do anything inappropriate. Mein Gott, Hans, they all are watching you. Decide quickly! Mum's waiting! You can't disappoint her._

"Yes." Jonathan answered and hugged Greg. There was applause. It grew stronger as the Inspector gave him a peck on lips. Jonathan widened his eyes. Before he recovered from the shock, Greg stood up and shouted: "Free champagne for everybody! To us!"

The agent searched the delighted crowd for Mycroft's face. When he found him, he looked like someone had stabbed him with a dagger. He had to lean on the table and whispered something to the hostess. Then they slowly left. Greg either didn't notice him, or was such good actor that he didn't hesitate even in slightest. Jonathan wasn't sure anymore.

The Inspector sat back in his seat. He grabbed Jonathan's hand over the table and smiled. Reinhard cleared his throat.

"Young men, congratulations! We have a big Freude!"

"Oh, yes, we do! So when is the wedding, boys?" Jonathan paled. This question terrified him.

"It does not matter. Eventually, we'll break up. Next week, I plan to die in the service and then I will be transferred to another country."

"What... what are you talking about, my dear?" The agent tried to free his hand from Greg's grip, but failed. Greg's sweet smile turned into a predatory smirk. Jonathan's parents gave him a stern glance and he still felt the random gaze from people in the restaurant. There was no where to run.


	11. Ironic, isn't it?

"What's going on?! You promised to help me!" Jonathan accused Greg angrily.

"That's exactly what I am doing. I'm helping you to save your bad relationship with your mother. You know, I'm also a father. I couldn't lie to your parents. Especially when I found out that they were such nice people."

"Don't look at me like that, Hans. You're a very naughty boy." Reproached Johnathan's mother.

"I'm glad the Inspector called us. I still can't believe you would just lie to us!"

"I only wanted one year of peace from you! I like to be single! I don't want to marry!" Jonathan fought back.

"My little Gingerbread, we only care for your wellbeing. You will regret it when you get older." Margarita said solemnly and Greg grinned. The young agent rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard that sentence?

"Mum, please don't use your pet names in front of my supervisor!"

"What?" His parents said in unison, white as a sheet.

"W-We thought Greg was your colleague! Mein Knuddelbär, I told you, don't interupt Hans during his work! Now he will sicher lose his job! Hans, how could you ask this of your boss? What would Greg's partner say?"

"His partner? He knew about everything! A moment ago, he was standing right there." The agent said and pointed to a (currently empty) spot. Greg rose up from the table.

"Bastard! I knew he wouldn't leave me alone! He just had to follow me, although I personally forbade him! I will-" Greg's phone interrupted his outburst. 

"DI Greg Lestrade," he began without looking at the caller.

"What? Where is he? ...Oh, my God, HEART ATTACK?" Greg's heart jumped in his throat. Jonathan started shaking. He realised that if Mycroft Holmes didn't know about this performance and he just got a stroke because of it, his future was doomed. Now it didn't sound so bad to go on date with Peggy – at least somebody would visit his grave. His parents gave him a murderous look. But the agent's life was the last thing which mattered to Greg at that moment. He felt awfully guilty.  _It's my fault. It should never have happened. Myc, will you ever forgive me?_ Thought Greg as he ran out of the restaurant, not caring about a single look he received.

In all his life he had never tried to catch a taxi in a tuxedo. Despite his expensive suit, the taxis were passing him. Apparently, he looked like a lunatic. However when he ran in front of one slow-moving taxi, his driver had no other choice, and so he stopped. Greg quickly dictated the name of the hospital and the taxi swiftly moved off. 

 

-II-

 

Mycroft lay in the hospital bed. He'd had a mild heart attack. The nurse advised him to rest and reduce work or other stressful activities. Given the fact that his work was one big stress activity, he just promised everything with a fake smile.  _Work. How could I forget? Gregory, what have you done to me?_ He sighed into the empty private room. Anthea had already visited him and tried to find the cause of Mycroft's breakdown – but Mycroft had remained silent. Therefore he wasn't surprised at all when the door burst open and revealed Sherlock's face. John Watson was only a few steps behind him. Mycroft sighed dramatically.

"Sherlock! He had a bloody heart attack! Did you have to kick the door? "

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, little brother of mine?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock was surprisingly serious.

"Anthena called." Sherlock explained, and his older brother stubbornly turned his face away.

"What happened?" John asked, but Mycroft didn't answer.

"John, give me a moment and close the door behind you. I have to solve this with my brother alone." John nodded and obeyed. There he sat in a chair next to the door, opposite Mycroft's standing bodyguard.

"Hi," said John friendily. The big man only frowned and ignored him.  _Great. I see Mycroft employs quite a talkative bunch._

-II-

 

Sherlock approached Mycroft's bed.

"You look terrible."

"Thank you, it's your best deduction, yet."

"Nope, only observation. Should I deduce what happened? This is your best suit. Those cufflinks belonged our great grandfather. He wore them when he got engaged; as did his son, and later his son's son – our father.... " Sherlock opened his mouth. Mycroft closed his eyes.

"Ohhh! Are you kidding me? My poor foolish brother! You asked him to marry you!? You don't even live together! Besides Mycroft, really? When did you become so sentimental? That's what this is all about? You asked him and had a heart attack because he refused you!? Is this the reason why he isn't here?" 

Mycroft couldn't argue with him. After spending a majority of his life looking after him, he knew how pointless would it be.

"Almost, my little brother... I was 97% sure  he  would ask  me  today."

"Tsk. There is always something… Wait. You knew he would ask you and still you broke down when he did it? There is no way that you would dress up like this if you were going to reject him!" Mycroft bit his lip.

"So what am I missing? The evening is still not over. I doubt you would collapse because he didn't ask you, yet... Hmm, what could the Inspector do wrong? Did he ask another man?!"

"Bingo." said Mycroft painfully. A tear found a path into his eye.  _No, not in front of Sherlock_ . Sherlock jerked as he watched the broken face of his strong older brother. He never saw him so desperate.

"Nonsense! If the Inspector had someone else, I would notice! You would notice!"

"Obviously they were very discreet..."

"Who?" Sherlock asked, his voice pure venom.

"It doesn't matter…" Whispered Mycroft. Sherlock stared at him in disbelief.

"Mycroft?! Why did you give up?!! Shouldn't you plot revenge?! How can you let him fuck you like this?!"

"I... all the way here, I was thinking about ways to get rid of Gregory's lover slowly and painfully. But then I remembered Gregory's smile. You had to see him in the tuxedo... I… There is nothing that can I give him. He chose well. That man is far better than me."

"Don't be stupid. Certainly you surpass him in many ways?"

"This is where you're wrong, little brother. He is 2 cm taller and much younger. Head full of thick curls, and a firm bum – as my PA summarized it."

"Intellect?"

"Reasonable. Although, it isn't always an advantage, right brother?"

"Work?"

"Secret services. Actually, he is Gregory's bodyguard. I personally gave him an order to protect him. Ironic, isn't it? But unlike me, he spends much more time with him."

"Money?"

"Gregory never cared about that."

"Power?"

"No. Gregory wants justice, not power. Besides, I'm afraid, that I don't share all moral values with Gregory." 

Sherlock paused. He wanted to explain to Mycroft how great he was, and that Lestrade didn't deserve him. But he couldn't find the right words. He was never good at this 'emotion thing'. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized all the differences between the Inspector and his brother. Finally, he understood Mycroft's dilemma.


	12. OBJECTION!

Anthea gave Greg the number of Mycroft's room; although in the end, he didn't need it. He identified Mycroft's room thanks to the big security man dressed in black, and John Watson waiting outside. John was saying something to him, but he didn't listen.

"Is he inside?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, he's with Sherlock."

Greg steeled himself for them both. John grabbed the door handle. With a friendly smile, he leaned against the door.

"Greg is here." John said happily, expecting a warm welcome. Instead, flames glowed in Sherlock's eyes and if Mycroft didn't catch his forearm, he would have immediately attacked Greg.

"Sherlock! You promised me something." Mycroft reminded him and Sherlock reluctantly calmed down.

"My, I don't know what you think happened, but believe me…"

"Gre-Detective Inspector, I had a busy day. I want to be alone …" Mycroft interrupted. Greg's heart ached as he addressed him ‘Inspector'. While alone, he hadn't used his formal title for years.

"Just give me five minutes. Please." Begged Greg.

"Enough Lestrade! You heard him." Scolded him Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" Shouted John.

"This is none of your business, John!" Sherlock yelled.

"Very well, you have five minutes." Mycroft said and waved Sherlock to go.

"But not a second more." Sherlock threatened Greg before he left the room with his doctor.

 

-II-

 

Greg slowly moved closer to Mycroft, who was looking in other direction.

"Are you all right?" Greg asked caringly. Mycroft turned his head to him and as their gaze locked, Mycroft saw deep care in Greg's eyes. He wanted to cry. _No, this man doesn't belong you. He never did. He only played with you. Pull yourself together…. All hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage._

"I am fine. According to the nurses, I only need some rest." He replied neutrally and they both paused.

"Myc, Hans said that he saw you in the middle of our little show... are you here because of it?"

"Little show? Is that what you call a public proposal?"

Greg dropped his jaw.

"What?! You think it was for real?!"

"I know what I saw." Mycroft replied bitterly.

"Myc, the boy is so young, he could be my son!"

"It depends if you had something with his mother."

Greg blushed with anger.

"You know that's not what I meant! And, Mycroft Holmes, that was way over the line! I'd expect something like that from Sherlock, not you..."

"I'm sorry... The day I took your measurements, I found wedding rings in your pants, so I thought-"

"What the hell, My?! We don't even live together, yet! How could you think that?!"

"Anthea also said that. But what about all of the signs? Furthermore, what did the scene in the restaurant mean, exactly?!"

"It's a funny story, as I promised. Agent Jonathan, Hans, asked me if I could pretend to be his boyfriend in front of his parents, who are always pressuring him into marriage. The next day I phoned his parents. They are a very nice couple. Actually, they remind me my parents. I decided that I couldn't lie to them, and so I told them everything. At first, they were disappointed, but then we came up with a great idea: to let him taste his own medicine! His parents were more than enthusiastic. I chose the most expensive restaurant close to the House of Lords, where you've taken me and let the agent pay for everything. Wait until he gets the bill for all the extra toasts. I bet his annual salary will fall on it – I didn't choose a cheap wine."

"But you kissed him!" Mycroft groaned and Greg laughed.

"It was just a peck! Mycroft, my mum was French. I can't count how many people I have kissed like that. My grandparents always greeted me this way."

"I am a-"

"Fool? Yes, My, you are. In my life, I have never met anyone more fascinating and amazing than you. How could you think I'd exchange you for anybody else?" Greg said as he kissed Mycroft's hand.

"Although, in one way you are right. It's time to take our relationship to the next level." He still held his hand and knelt on one knee in front of his hospital bed.

"Mycroft Holmes, will you do me the honour of becoming my roommate?"

"Yes." Mycroft answered, eyes watering. Then the door swiftly opened.

Sherlock, whom had heard only 'yes' and saw Greg kneeling, lost his temper.

"OBJECTION! 5 minutes passed! Graham Lestrade, I do not know where you think you are but bigamy is still forbidden in Great Britain! You can't just walk around London and marry everybody!"

"Sherlock, do the world a favour and shut up for once!" Shouted Greg, angry, that Sherlock ruined his romantic moment with Mycroft.

"Never! John! Let me go! I need to teach him a lesson!" Sherlock screamed as he tried to escape from the iron grip of the former military doctor.

"No! I won't allow it! We're in the hospital! And Mycroft should rest!"

"He will. After I deal with that promiscuous bastard!"

"What?! I have never cheated on your brother! Or my ex-wife!"

"Of course you didn't, your first base is marriage!"

Mycroft sighed wearily and pressed the emergency button several times. Within two minutes, a big nurse, who looked like budybuilder on steroids, entered the room. It was impossible not have respect for her.

"ENOUGH! WHAT IS ALL THIS RACKET? EVERYBODY OUT! MR HOLMES NEEDS HIS PEACE!" She yelled. Greg and Sherlock stopped arguing. They almost responded, 'Yes, ma'am' but their pride didn't allow it, so they left quietly.

Mycroft finally had his peace. Even in the head. Feeling fully satisfied, he called Anthea to get him release papers from the hospital. Now, he was going to rest for a few hours, and then he would return to work. The crisis in the Middle East wouldn't wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank BrynTWedge for being an amazing Beta and person :). I know you are a little bit self-conscious about your correction, but I think every grammar nazi here abandoned my series after the first sentence in my first part (Shake it) :D. So yeah, I think it doesn't matter if you didn't notice a few mistakes. We can live with that :D. And all your pieces of advice really help me to improve my English. So thank you again :).
> 
> Of course, I also thank you all for your kudos and heartwarming comments. I am glad you like this series because I am not finished yet :D.


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